


Is This Victory?

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anger, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 01:57:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2833955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Authority is no more. Roman celebrates with Dean backstage, then Sting delivers Seth to their locker room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is This Victory?

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Survivor Series 2014.

 

 

Once the Authority had lost and apparently cleared out of the arena, Roman went backstage to see Dean. Roman’d filmed his Survivor Series interview right in his own Florida backyard and the plan had been that he’d turn up at the arena to celebrate with Dean if Team Cena won. If the Authority had won then he’d have acted as getaway driver to make sure that Bray or anyone else hadn't used Dean as an example. Roman could drive now without causing himself pain and he’d been looking forward to seeing the expression on Seth’s face when he turned up.

 

He’d been looking forward to seeing Seth. And he knew that Dean felt the same way, even though both of them also couldn’t wait to face Seth in the ring again, couldn’t wait to wipe that smug look off his face and throttle his malicious words out of him. Fucked up but there it was.

 

Now Roman was backstage, hugging Dean because the Authority was gone. Fuck yes. Not only had a massive overbearing roadblock disappeared, a group that’d taken pleasure in making Roman and Dean’s lives miserable, but one of the biggest reasons behind Seth’s backstabbing choice was gone too. Roman wondered how that felt right now. Seth had the briefcase, his title shot, but he didn’t have the leverage, the power, anymore. How did that feel?

 

Yes, Roman felt victorious, even though he hadn’t been participating in the PPV. He even took pleasure in what’d happened to Seth because Seth had seemed really happy whenever Roman and Dean had been crushed by the Authority. And that’d hurt, that and everything else about Seth’s behavior had fucking destroyed Roman and Dean. But the pleased feeling didn’t last long because Roman wasn’t like Seth. Not at all.

 

Dean was still damp from his post-match shower and looked tired but wired around the eyes. He kept touching Roman, clapping a hand to his shoulder, hipchecking him and prodding him for emphasis as he spoke. He was smiling that sharp wicked grin but he was distracted too, looking around for something or someone. He was probably thinking along the same crooked lines as Roman; about Seth. Once, Roman would have been surprised at how similar he and Dean sometimes were. Now, he found it insanely comforting.

 

He dug a hand into Dean’s tense left shoulder. Dean’s words hitched but kept streaming as Roman worked at the tight knots brought on by a night facing Bray Wyatt, the dissolution of the Authority and thoughts of Seth. Eventually Dean’s words stumbled into incoherent happy noises and Roman smirked, using both hands now to help unkink Dean. He pushed Dean towards the locker room bench and kissed his neck tendons once Dean was sat down.

 

Dean curled an arm back and up, burying his hand in Roman’s shirt, anchoring him close. They fucking had each other, that was what mattered. Dean turned his head and kissed Roman with demanding yearning teeth, like he'd heard Roman's thoughts. Roman pressed his hands hard against Dean’s skin, his hair a curtain around their faces. Fuck yes.

 

Then the locker room door opened and Sting walked in.

 

His facepaint was ghoulish, even under the harsh locker room lighting, and he looked at them with eyes so dark they were practically black. Roman stilled, his hands on Dean protective now. His and Dean’s gazes were both riveted on Sting, on what he was carrying over his shoulder. It was Seth, passed out apparently, still in his ring gear. Sting carried him like he didn’t weigh a pound and slung him down onto the empty bench opposite them. Roman didn’t know when he’d last taken a breath.

 

Sting was almost out of the door before Dean spoke, his words spat into the silence like pebbles into a really flat lake.

 

“The Authority throwing their garbage out? Last one in, first one out kinda deal?”

 

Roman’s breathing felt like it’d suddenly started again. Had the Authority imploded? Had they blamed Seth for losing the match and their subsequent loss of power? Roman found himself looking Seth over, analyzing what marks he could see, trying to work out if there’d been a fight backstage, if Seth had been made to pay. Traitorous worry was already snaking through Roman, just like it was snaking through Dean. Some bonds couldn’t be untied, not completely.

 

Sting didn’t answer. Maybe he’d brought Seth here to keep him safe or maybe he’d wanted Seth finished off. He clearly wasn’t going to explain. That was the thing about Sting; he carried a fucking powerful aura. Most people were struck silent by it, mesmerized by everything he did. He didn’t need to talk.

 

With a final look, like he was measuring them, Sting left. Dean and Roman were too transfixed by what he’d left behind to protest.

 

Seth didn’t wake up. His breathing was almost even and there was movement under his eyelids. Dean kept a firm grip on Roman; Roman didn’t let go of him either. They both stared at Seth, both of them tense and pounding with contrasting emotions. Neither of them said anything about throwing him out.

 

“He’s there, right?” asked Dean, his words full of dark humor like this was all some terrible joke. Yeah, Roman got that. “He’s actually fucking there.”

 

Roman nodded and cleared his throat, dislodging gravel but his voice still sounded even lower than usual. “He’s there.”

 

Did Seth want to be there, with Roman and Dean? Was he going to come round and immediately start spitting and sneering at them, making for the exit as soon as he could? Had Sting grabbed him just to torture him? To torture them? What the fuck was going on?

 

Dean and Roman still held onto each other. They both stared at Seth, unable to look away, their gazes hungry. Was Seth here because he’d asked to see them? Because he’d realized that his plan for scooping up leverage and using the richest power in the WWE had failed completely? Or because he’d realized something else? Had he actually talked to Sting at all after Sting had cost him the match? Or had Sting found him passed out and so had decided to act on a hunch? Some hunch.

 

Roman could reach out and touch Seth. He watched Seth murmur, his brow pinching in pain. Roman listed closer, to try to make out Seth’s words. He could feel Dean doing the same, both of them pulled by the same inevitable invisible thread.

 

After everything, Roman still wanted to ease Seth’s pain. He still wanted to know whose name was on Seth’s lips. Dean was knotted up tight again, he hadn’t laid a hand on Seth but his eyes were avid on their former friend. Dean was tensing his jaw hard enough to hurt and his fingers were digging into Roman’s arm. Neither of them moved, neither of them dared. But somehow they also seemed to be rising and falling with every breath, every murmur from Seth’s mouth.

 

Roman shifted imperceptibly to press a kiss to Dean’s hairline. He saw Dean’s eyes close for a moment and felt Dean’s grip tighten.

 

What the fuck were they going to say and do when Seth roused into wakefulness? Neither of them knew but they stayed there, locked together, full of victory and pain, watching Seth breathe.

 

_-the end_


End file.
